Wanted
by shnazzy214
Summary: "We have a situation. Stark was kidnapped." Steve stuck to the bare facts. It was all he could do to prevent his voice from shaking.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

 **So, now that I remembered the login to this account, this story will be posted here. Sorry to everyone reading it at my alt (shnazzy2140), I won't be posting any more chapters there. Thanks so much for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Tony**

Being awake sucked, Tony decided. He had been so _comfortable_ in his bed and fancy comforter, and he didn't want to have to _move_. Of course, he mostly hated being awake because it meant that the cuddle fest he had just been having with Steve had been a dream. Tony decided to ignore that thought and concentrate on getting out of bed. It was hard, he was tired and his bed was so huge Thor had once compared it to an Asgardian mattress (and everyone knows what happens on Asgardian mattresses).

"J'vis, status report" Tony mumbled blearily

"It is 9:29 in the morning, sir, and 54 degrees outside and sunny. Today is March 6, 2014. I must congratulate you on more than seven hours of sleep sir, I believe that that is a record." Jarvis' crisp accent emanated from the speakers. Tony felt a moment of irrational jealousy that Jarvis was so awake.

"You are a sarcastic mother hen Jarvis. I'm positive that I didn't program that into you."

"As they say, sir, I learned from the best."

Tony groaned and tried to throw his pillow at the ceiling. It went a few feet and plopped back down onto his face. Naturally Clint chose that exact moment to barge right in without knocking.

"Time to get up sweetheart! You promised to take your _dashing prince_ to the ball tonight!" Clint sing-songed, smirking as Tony glared at him from under the pillow.

"I will end you." Tony growled.

"Yeah, that would be a lot scarier if I hadn't just seen you lose a fight with your pillow." Clint winked at him. Tony attempted to throw the offending pillow at his face. It fell about two feet short. Clint's grin only grew.

"Chop chop honeybuns, you have a busy day planned, and I'm your fairy godmother today."

"Ugliest fairy godmother I've ever seen."

"Who, me? Your eyes just can't handle my perfection. Get. Up. Steve's meeting you at the Met at noon."

"Noon!? I have hours! Screw you Barton, I'm going back to bed."

"Uh uh snookums, Pepper told me that I would need to wake you up hours in advance to make sure you were on time. Don't make me get Tasha."

Tony's eyes shot open at the threat. "They put you up to this, didn't they?"

Clint shrugged. "What can I say? They're terrifying. Which is why you should get out of bed before I tell them you're being difficult."

Tony nodded his agreement vigorously, and swung his legs over the side of his monster bed. Clint handed him a change of clothes that had obviously been picked out by Pepper – They looked so _neat_.

"I have been informed to make you dress like you are a responsible adult. I will be blamed if you arrive in a ratty band T-shirt." Clint sounded like he was quoting someone. Probably Pepper. Pepper was usually the one who forced him to be an adult, even if she was just his CEO now.

Tony sighed as he pulled on the neat slacks, T-shirt, and sweater. At least it wasn't a collared shirt, those made him feel so _old_. Clint patted his ass as he walked out the door to go have breakfast. "Sorry, but I know better than to get involved with you. I'd rather not get both of us slowly killed by Agent."

Clint smirked, "Careful, Stark. I'll tell him you were coming on to me, and they'll never even find the body."

Tony flipped him off as they entered the communal kitchen. Bruce, who Tony knew had been up late last night finishing an experiment, was cooking, his omnipresent cup of tea sitting next to the stove. Tony inhaled deeply as the scent reached his nose.

"I love you Bruce. I really, really do. Barton, you should emulate Bruce and learn a skill that will benefit the household. Maybe then I wouldn't be constantly tempted to kick your ass off the roof."

"I can kick your ass, Stark, suit or no. I'll be laughing while you plummet eighty stories."

"I'm sure you will. Jarvis, make a note to kick Barton off the roof this afternoon and laugh."

"What was that, Stark?" Coulson walked in, dressed in his impeccable suit as usual.

"Phil! Tony's bullying me! Kill him with his own sock, please." Clint ducked behind Phil and grinned at Tony from a safe distance.

Phil looked exasperated at the maturity level of two of Earth's greatest heroes, but Bruce intervened. "Breakfast's ready! Anyone who wants pancakes needs to sit at the table and be nice to their teammates."

Tony and Clint didn't look happy about it, but they would do anything for Bruce's pancakes. With everyone sitting, Bruce doled out the pancakes. Tony moaned as he stuffed the first one in his mouth. Clint sniggered.

"Please show _some_ dignity," Coulson chastised. No one deigned to respond. Tony didn't think Clint even knew what dignity was. Besides, who needs dignity when you have Bruce pancakes?

Tony tried to keep a straight face as he left for the museum, but inside he was jumping for joy. As soon as Fury had forced him and Steve to sit down and work out their difficulties, they had discovered that they very much enjoyed each other's company. Tony had even convinced Steve to break the company line a few times. He suspected that Fury had begun to regret forcing them to make nice after the incident at that press conference.

Tony and Steve had been spending a lot of time together lately. At first, Tony had described them as good friends, but that wasn't entirely true anymore. He wasn't willing to analyze his psyche too closely, but judging from the fact that every time Steve smiled at him with those beautiful blue eyes it was harder to fight the instinct to just take his clothes off right then and there, the feelings he had towards Steve were not platonic.

Tony would never act on his feelings. He might be in love with Steve, but he wasn't naive enough to believe that his feelings would ever be reciprocated. Steve was beautiful and loyal and perfect, and deserved so much more than the fucked up merchant of death. Tony told himself he would just have to be content with their friendship, but the thought of Steve falling in love with some random woman made his gut wrench.

Lost in thought, Tony turned onto a side street that he recognized as a shortcut to the museum. He didn't notice the five men lying in wait behind a dumpster until they surrounded him. Tony swore, and dodged the flying fists, but he wasn't a superhero without the suit. He had taken down two when the other three pinned him down. Tony tried not to inhale as a sweet smelling cloth was pressed over his face, but he was breathing hard from the fight.

 _Sorry Steve,_ he thought as the world faded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Steve**

Steve tried not to feel too disappointed as he sat on the steps outside the Met. They had agreed to meet at noon, and Tony had promised to be on time, but it was already 12:30 and there was no sign of him. Steve wondered if it would be rude to call. Tony had another job, after all. He didn't have time to be at the beck and call of a ninety-year-old.

Still, Steve had been looking forward to this visit to the Met. He had visited here as a kid, and it hadn't changed nearly as much as everything else had. He had wanted to show Tony some of his favorite exhibits. Steve mused on texting Tony, just to make sure that everything was all right.

As if on cue, Steve's phone buzzed with a text. He pulled it out, and some unknown icon glowed. Steve had no idea what most of the functions on the phone did, – it had been designed personally by Tony, after all – but he did at least know _how_ to call and text, even if he rarely used that knowledge.

This particular text was from Clint. Steve was disappointed, but opened it anyway. It read: "How r my 2 fav luvbrds? Hvng fun? 3 ;)" Steve sighed. If he hadn't seen Clint in action, he would never have known that he was an extremely talented spy/assassin. In person, he tended to act like a middle school girl. Nevertheless, Steve decided to respond,

"Clint, can you check if Tony has left yet? I know he has a meeting this evening, and I wanted to take our time here."

After a few seconds, the phone buzzed again. It was a picture text from Tony. Steve heaved a sigh of relief. He had been slightly worried that Tony had forgotten, or that something had happened to him. He wondered what picture Tony could possibly be sending him to excuse his lateness.

All thoughts of a fun day at the museum vanished as soon as Steve opened the text. It was a picture of Tony, lying unconscious on the floor of a van with his hands tied behind his back. He was stripped to his boxers, with the arc reactor clearly visible in the center of his chest. Judging from the bruises forming on his upper arms and torso, he had fought whoever had taken this picture.

Steve couldn't breathe. _No, Tony, no, they can't. no. please no please, Tony!_

Steve's brain went on autopilot as he shifted into his Captain America persona. He entered the SHIELD access code into his phone, and was on the phone with Fury in a matter of seconds.

"We have a situation. Stark was kidnapped." Steve stuck to the bare facts. It was all he could do to prevent his voice from shaking.

"How do you know?" Steve appreciated Fury's businesslike tone; Fury understood the necessity of a swift reaction.

"I was texted a picture of him tied up in a van, from his phone. I'll forward the photo to SHIELD."

"No need, Captain, JARVIS just transferred it to our servers. They're trying to trace the signal right now. He also set off an assemble alarm at the Tower, the rest of your team is on their way to pick you up in the Quinjet."

Steve took a deep breath. He reminded himself that panicking wouldn't help Tony. He had to be strong. For Tony. "Thank you, director. I would like to be kept up to date on any information concerning this situation."

"Of course, Captain." Fury's tone had a little too much understanding in it.

Steve suddenly felt bile rise up in the back of his throat. This was _Tony_ , alone, captured by enemies who would hurt him, and Steve could only wait to be picked up by his teammates. If it were Steve who was captured, Tony would already have algorithms running, trying to find him. But Steve had just reported the situation like a good little soldier, like it wasn't the _love of his life_ who was missing.

Steve felt completely lost as he stood in the Helicarrier, watching the computers try to find the signal from Tony's phone. Tony had already been missing for three hours, and Steve still had _no idea_ how to help. Tony would know what to do here, but Steve was only good for smashing things. He couldn't even help when his best friend needed him most.

Thor appeared just as lost. He knew even less than Steve about modern technology, and kidnapping was apparently extremely rare on Asgard. The unusually serious set of his face conveyed the dire nature of the situation, but Steve knew that Thor wanted nothing more than something physical to smash. He could understand the feeling.

Bruce, on the other hand, was in his element. Although not nearly as talented with computers as Tony, Bruce was himself a certifiable genius, and had worked with Tony for long enough that he knew his way around a tracking program and a Starkphone. Steve knew that Bruce felt vindicated that _he_ could finally contribute something to the team, without having to turn big and green, but he could see from the rippling of the physicist's shoulders that the situation had him stressed nearly to the breaking point. He briefly considered insisting that Bruce step away from the computers, but decided that that would do more harm than good.

Natasha and Clint were working with other espionage specialists to track Tony's movements prior to his kidnapping. They wanted to find exactly where he had been taken from, so that they could identify the kidnappers. So far, no progress had been made. Judging from the tense set of Clint's shoulders, they were no closer to any answers than they had been when they arrived. Natasha looked as relaxed as ever, but Steve knew that she was just as worried as the rest of them.

A loud ringing noise from Steve's phone made everyone tense. Steve knew those tones, it was Tony, or at least Tony's phone, calling. As one, the room turned to look at him. Steve's heart was in his mouth as he handed the phone to one of the techies to project the video call to a larger screen.

Steve wasn't sure he wanted to see this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Tony**

Tony opened his eyes with a groan. _What had he_ done _last night?_ The headache was killer, and he wasn't even in bed. If even Steve hadn't wanted to make sure that he was sleeping, some truly bad shit had to have gone down.

Tony opened his eyes – or at least he thought he did, the room (was it a room?) was just as dark with his eyes open. He tried to rub his eyes, and noticed that he couldn't even move his arms.

Suddenly it all came rushing back. Leaving for the date _(it's not a date, idiot, get it together)_ with Steve, turning on to that alley, the men in black, then nothing.

Steve was probably freaking out right now.

Tony entertained the pleasing thought of Steve worrying about him for a few seconds, then forced his mind to concentrate on more immediate concerns. His hands were bound with rope, but it wasn't too tight, which meant that they were either amateurs or they had many more effective security measures. Unfortunately, Tony suspected the latter. His head had the most noticeable pain, but his arms were beginning to ache as well from being tied behind his back for so long, and he could feel a few bruises blossoming elsewhere. His captors had not been gentle transporting him here.

Wherever the hell here was.

Tony forced himself upright, groaning softly as he stretched his aching muscles. A sudden influx of blinding light forced him to slam his eyes shut.

Apparently the cell had florescent lighting, and the bastards had chosen this moment to turn it on. That meant they knew he was awake. Shit.

Tony slowly opened his eyes and began to look around. The cell was square, about 12 feet on each side, with a concrete door with no handle in front of him. Two strips of florescent lights were all that adorned the ceiling. The black eye of a camera looked down at him from one corner, and upon turning he noticed an identical camera in the opposite corner. Double shit. That meant no blind spots.

The nausea slammed into him with a force that took his breath away. Tony bent over and gasped, forcing down the Afghanistan flashback with sheer willpower. _This is different,_ he promised himself. _I have a team now. They'll come for me. Steve will come for me_.

With that last thought in mind, Tony prepared himself for what would happen when they came through that door. He refused to think of Afghanistan. Tony knew that it was probable that he would be tortured, and it could even be worse than before. It didn't matter. He could deal with it. He could be strong for his team.

Tony knew he should be grateful that they weren't hurting him yet, but couldn't they have at least given him some clothes?

A few minutes ago, five guards in full riot gear had burst into his cell, guns aimed at his head. He bit back the snarky comment at the tip of his tongue, deciding to opt for self-preservation until he actually knew what was going on.

Tony had allowed himself to be blindfolded and manhandled out of the room with a minimal complaining, but even that had annoyed the guards, and a bag had been tugged over his head. He gave up complaining upon realizing that he couldn't make an intelligible sound through the bag.

The guards had dragged him to a new room and dumped him on the floor. They had handcuffed his ankles together and to some kind of D-ring in the ground, but at least they had taken the bag and blindfold off. Unfortunately, they had tied the blindfold around his mouth instead, so he could only articulate gibberish.

The new room was concrete, like his cell, but was much larger. Unlike the unforgiving florescent lights in the cell, this room had a single bare bulb on the ceiling above Tony's head. Tony tried not to think about the torture chamber vibes he was getting.

He also tried to ignore the fact that the floor underneath him was brown, rather than concrete gray.

Tony sat there in his boxers, trying not to vomit from the greasy taste of the rag in his mouth and the blood flaking off onto his legs. The guards were gone, but he suspected that they would be back soon, and that they would be less gentle.

With that thought, the door to the new room (torture chamber) opened to admit about five people. They were carrying a few things, and he craned his neck to see exactly what toys they were bringing.

Shit. Four guards were carrying a large metal basin, and as Tony watched, a little bit of the water inside slopped over the edge. Judging from the clinking of ice in the basin, that water was _cold_.

This time, Tony couldn't completely repress the flashback. The cave in Afghanistan, dark and dry, loomed before his eyes, and his the shouts of his old captors echoed in his ears.

Tony was breathing hard, but he managed to concentrate on the present when the men slammed down the bucket of ice water in front of him. He avoided looking into the icy basin, and concentrated on the fifth guard instead.

The fifth man was setting up a tripod with a camera on top. Tony wasn't sure how he felt about that. Ransom meant that they had a reason to keep him alive, but it also meant that people ( _his team_ ) would see him suffering. He didn't want to put any of them – especially Steve – through that. Steve had already suffered enough. He had lost his whole world, he didn't need to see his new friends suffer as well.

Tony promised himself that he would not give in. He would not beg. He would not scream. He would not cry. He would not do anything these sadists wanted. Steve would want him to be strong.

A little voice in his head asked how long that resolve would last.

The guard turned the camera on. The red recording light glared mercilessly at Tony.

Showtime.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Steve**

Steve stared helplessly at the screen. Tony was _right there_ , yet still so far out of his reach.

Tony was a standing, arms evidently tied behind his back, and a rag stuffed in his mouth. Two muscular, masked guards gripped his biceps. Judging from the positioning of his legs, his feet were bound as well, but his they were hidden from the camera by a large metal basin of ice water. Even Steve could see how hard Tony was trying not to look into its depths.

Tony hated swimming pools because of the PTSD, Steve could only imagine how hard it was to keep the panic back right now. In fact, Steve was having trouble holding back his own panic at the thought of Tony, helpless and about to face his worst fear. He wasn't sure he could take watching Tony being tortured.

A man walked onscreen, face bared. A SHIELD agent behind Steve swore under his breath, and a flurry of activity started on the computers as the operatives rushed identify the man and his possible motives. Steve barely noticed. His eyes were on Tony, who was glaring at the mystery man with shuttered eyes, chest heaving, clearly all too aware of what was coming next.

"We have Tony Stark." Clearly the man onscreen wasn't wasting words, and Steve was absurdly grateful. "He will be returned to you in exchange for the freeing of the five prisoners whose files we have sent you on Captain Rogers' phone, and official signatures on the three pardon documents we have sent." Behind the man, Tony's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He knew that SHIELD would never make that deal. "You will comply. For every day you do not, we will torture him. For every day you delay the inevitable, he will be a little bit more broken. I wonder, how long will he hold on until there is nothing left?"

The man motioned to the guards, and they shoved Tony's head into the water. He went limp, didn't struggle, and Steve counted the seconds. As he passed the minute mark, he wondered how long Tony could hold his breath. What if he had passed out already?

At 1:14 Tony began to struggle. By 1:20 he was thrashing, but the guards still held him down. At 1:27 his struggles had died down, and they heaved him out. He was soaked, and gasping for air. Steve noticed detachedly that he was gasping as well, and realized that he had been holding his breath with Tony.

Bruce muttered an excuse and all but sprinted out of the room. _Probably heading to the airlock_ the small rational part of Steve's brain told him, but Steve only had eyes for the man panting for breath on the screen.

Tony was doubled over as he tried to get his breath back, but he was standing on his own, trying his best to ignore the masked men holding his arms. His eyes were unfocused and dazed and _terrified_. Water dripped out of his mouth from around the makeshift gag, and Steve realized that he couldn't even close his mouth against the water.

That's when they shoved his head back down.

Steve made a small sound in the back of his throat that he thought was a whimper, but he clamped his mouth shut, refusing to be weak in front of these SHIELD agents. Tony was actually suffering through this; Steve could at least be brave enough to _watch_.

This time Tony started struggling much sooner, but his eyes were focused when they pulled him back up. He glared at the unmasked man, who had been watching impassively off to the side. Tony made eye contact without flinching, and Steve silently thanked god that Tony could still resist. He was nowhere near breaking.

 _How long will he hold on until nothing is left?_ The man's mocking words echoed in Steve's mind, and he couldn't ignore them. _What if Tony couldn't hold on?_

The agonizing cycle of torture repeated countless times, until Tony was leaning completely on the guards, coughing heavily around the gag. His eyes were still angry, and he had refused to make a sound beyond his gasps for air, but swallowing any more water could result in dangerous damage to the lungs. Steve knew all about fluid in the lungs, – his mother was a nurse, after all – and Tony's lung capacity was already reduced due to the arc reactor.

Steve held back a sob. Tony was so strong and smart and full of life, and they were hurting him, and all Steve could do was watch him suffer. Tony didn't deserve this _at all_ , but they were just going to hurt him more and _laugh_.

Steve couldn't hold back his gasp when the guards dropped Tony's arms, dropping him headfirst into the icy water. Tony thrashed, but was unable to pull himself out of the water. It wasn't until he stopped struggling completely that they finally – _finally_ – pulled him out of the water. Tony's head lolled on his shoulders, he was deeply unconscious.

Steve repressed a sob of relief.

The screen went black.

The five Avengers on the Helicarrier were uncharacteristically subdued as they waited in the briefing room. Fury was coming to brief them on new information regarding Tony, and they had needed the time to recoup after watching the torture session.

Bruce hadn't hulked out when he ran for the airlock, but it was a close thing. He was nursing his third cup of herbal tea, and whenever they heard footsteps outside, his eyes would flash green.

Clint was cleaning his bow carefully, inspecting every little inch for damage. Steve knew that he was assuring himself that he would be in top shape to make Tony's captors _pay_.

Natasha looked calm and composed as ever, but Steve saw the way her eyes darted around the room ever so slightly. She and Tony still weren't the best of friends, but Steve knew Tony's gift of a home meant more to her than she would ever admit.

Thor was seated in a folding chair that was much too small for him, fiddling with Mjolnir. His uncharacteristically severe expression was more terrifying than even Natasha. Steve wondered if he was thinking of Loki, wondering if he would fail to save another brother.

Steve himself was hunched over in his chair, head in his hands. He could see his team, feel their presence buoying his spirit, but he truly wanted nothing more than to go home, curl up alone in a ball and cry. Of course, it was utterly inappropriate for Captain America to bawl like a little boy when he should be trying to save his best friend.

The door opened, and everyone's eyes immediately up as Fury stalked into the room. Steve had a sneaking suspicion that Bruce's eyes had flashed green yet again, but there was no growling, and everyone was concentrating too hard on Fury to pay much attention to a potential hulk-out.

"Roy Heller" Fury nearly spat, as an image of the man popped up onscreen, "notorious, calls himself a 'torturemaster.' I won't lie, some of our best have been broken by him. He does like to work slow, so we have time to find Stark." Fury surveyed the room. Steve didn't meet his eyes, and Fury seemed to decide to avoid discussion of Trogon's skills, not least because Bruce was rigid as a board.

"He works for AIM," Fury continued, and Bruce jerked in his seat. Steve remembered reading Tony's file, after the Chitauri incident, when the team had been reassembled permanently. Tony had fought AIM and won, and stopped one of their major projects. The incident had been classified as a major embarrassment for AIM, all thanks to Tony.

And now he was completely at their mercy.

"Doctor Banner, I think it would be best if you stepped outside" Fury addressed Bruce, whose hands were clenched in fists so tight that his knuckles were bone white.

"I'm fine," Bruce panted after a few seconds of tension; "The other guy agreed that it would only hurt Tony if he comes out. Just… just try to avoid the t-word."

Fury nodded tersely and continued. "AIM has been after Stark since the extremis incident last year, but we've been holding them off. There haven't been many opportunities to take him while he was living with the rest of you, and we still don't know how they knew he would turn into that alley.

"Right now, we're tracing the signal from Captain Rogers' phone to find where these messages are coming from, but it's been scrambled to high hell, and it could take years to crack the code. We also have footage from traffic cameras around the city, but we don't know how he was transported. Our moles in AIM don't have any useful information, it seems his capture was kept on a need-to-know basis."

Fury surveyed the room for the reactions to the disheartening news. "Stark is a survivor," Fury continued. "We have the best intelligence system in history, and the world's not as big as it used to be. There is a good chance we will find him."

Fury didn't mention what would happen if SHIELD's intelligence system failed. He didn't need to.

Steve staggered to his feet and bolted from the room. The toilet cubicle at the end of the hallway had a lock, and was mostly soundproof. No one would hear him break down in there.

Steve collapsed against the closed door and sobbed into his hands.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Tony**

Tony almost managed to silence his whimper as the guards dropped him onto the cold concrete floor of the cell. He couldn't stand anymore.

His left ankle had been twisted during the most recent session in front of the camera, but it might have held his weight had his right leg been in working condition.

His right leg was a ball of mangled flesh. During the third session, they had thrown him to the ground – restrained only by a pair of handcuffs shackling his hands behind his back – and started kicking him. He had responded in kind, and one of the guards probably had received a nasty bruise on his shin.

Their boss –Heller, Tony remembered– had entered with a rubber mallet, and the guards held Tony down as the offending foot was hammered into a swollen bag of bones. Tony's resistance had lessened significantly after that, if only because he needed full use of his remaining limbs for any reasonable escape attempt.

Tony knew his team was searching for him. If nothing else, he was their weapons designer and could usually catch Barton when he flung himself off a building, but he thought that they had gotten closer than that.

Tony would never admit it out loud, but offering the tower as a home for the rest of the team was possibly the best decision he had ever made. As much as he liked to bitch about being forced to leave the lab for team dinners, and Thor and Steve breaking at least one appliance weekly, and Natasha giving him a heart attack every time they were in the same room, he didn't ever want to go back to living alone.

The more he thought about it, the cheesier it sounded, but there was just something nice about all six of them nodding off to sleep in front of the TV at least once a week. Especially if he happened to be sitting next to Steve, and could "accidentally" fall asleep on his perfectly sculpted shoulder.

They would come for him. Tony knew they would.

It felt like he had just managed to nod off when Tony heard the jangle of keys unlocking his cell door yet again. He thought that these torture sessions were happening about once a day, with a few days of breaks for recovery. Thankfully they were feeding him more than enough, but that only meant that he healed faster.

Tony didn't resist as they shackled his hands behind his back, stuffed the bag over his head, and all but carried him out of the cell. He could barely stand anyway, and stood no chance against two goons in peak physical condition. Despite the food and rest periods, he was deteriorating rapidly, and if the team didn't get here soon, he could be in real danger. He was already worried that his foot would never regain functionality.

Tony was jarred out of his thoughts as his right foot banged against the floor. A jolt of pain ran up his side, and he moaned softly into the bag. The guard on his left sniggered. Great.

Tony had been making a concerted effort to react as little as possible to the torture. He didn't want to give the assholes the satisfaction of making him scream, and he wanted to be brave for anyone watching the videos. Tony was completely aware that any other Avenger would have escaped by now, and probably wouldn't have been kidnapped in the first place. He didn't need them to think he was any weaker than they already did.

The guards came to a halt and unchained his hands. Tony was shocked – until they refastened them to the top of some kind of pole. When they pulled the bag off, Tony realized he had been chained to a whipping post.

At the sound of footsteps, Tony twisted his head to see Heller approaching, with a whip of some sort curled around his left wrist. Heller noticed where Tony was looking and unfurled the whip. Tony's forays into the kinkier side of adult entertainment hadn't lasted long enough for him to recognize the whip, but he was sure that it was going to hurt like a motherfucker. That was Heller's job, after all, and he was damn good at it.

While Tony's gaze was caught on the whip, a guard grabbed him by the neck of his shirt. Tony was thrown off balance, and he gasped as his mangled foot made contact with the ground once again. Heller smirked. Tony met his gaze steadily as his bloody shirt was cut off, leaving his back bared and vulnerable.

As usual, Tony ignored the video camera that was currently aimed at his back.

Heller beamed at the camera and stroked the whip rather seductively. Had the situation been any less dire, Tony would have made a joke about how those hands were better suited for pleasure than pain – but he suspected Heller was well aware of that, and if he would start making use of that knowledge sooner rather than later.

"Tony Stark is a monster." Heller stated to the camera, and Tony gave a huff of impatience. Heller liked to start off every session by listing Tony's faults, real and imagined, as if everyone wasn't already aware of them. "He caused thousands, if not millions of deaths. He is callous and selfish. He thinks solely of his own pleasure." Heller continued – it usually lasted for a few minutes – but Tony was done listening. It wasn't that the accusations were baseless, far from it. Tony didn't like to be reminded of everything he had done wrong, and he knew that Heller had no right to punish him. If the American people wanted to hold him accountable, they could – because he was a fucking patriot, that's why – but a sadist like Heller didn't have a higher moral ground.

Heller's droning accusations petered off, and Tony tried not to tense in anticipation of the pain to come.

The first lash felt like a stripe of fire painted down his back, and Tony bit his lip in an effort to stay silent. The whip came down, again and again, flaying off his flesh. Tony dimly noticed that the waist of his pants was wet with his own blood. With every stroke, he could feel himself nearing the blissful blackness of unconsciousness.

Tony tasted blood as the whip came down once more, and realized he had bitten straight through his lip. He spat towards one of the openly grinning guards, and yelled as the lash came down yet again. The guard actually _laughed_.

Soon Tony's world had faded into a haze of blinding pain. He knew that he was yelling, but couldn't work up enough effort to silence himself. He had long since lost strength in his legs, was openly hanging from the pole – thanks to the shackles attached to his arms. He just hoped the darkness would take him sooner rather than later.

With two strokes directly over his spine, Tony finally escaped into painless unconsciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Steve**

Steve's passage from sleeping to waking was so gradual that he was unsure if he had truly slept at all. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Tony being tortured.

Thor had punched through a wall after Steve had fled the room, and Bruce had hulked out a few hours later. Steve hadn't been able to sleep for three full days afterwards. All three had been prohibited from viewing the subsequent videos AIM had sent, so Steve's imagination had begun to supply images of the horrors Tony was experiencing. Clint always looked so drained when he rejoined the three of them after watching one of the videos, and even Natasha looked uncharacteristically tense. That scared Steve more than anything.

Steve opened his eyes, just wanting to _escape_ the image of Tony's terrified face that seemed to have burned itself on the back of his eyelids. He could see the image floating in front of him in the hazy daylight seeping through the curtains. Steve rolled over, knowing that if he didn't distract himself with something useful he would sink into a gloomy fog.

Steve was all too familiar with grief. When he had first arrived, he had mourned his whole world, and had forced himself to go forward only by thinking of the people who needed him. It was Tony who had pulled him out of that rut, who had dragged him out into the new New York City, who had forced him to visit practically every street vendor in the city to find the best pretzels, who had poked his every sore spot until he was goaded into fighting back, who gave him a home when he had lost everything. It was Tony who had forced him to feel again.

And he might never see him again.

The nausea forced Steve to double over, dry heaving into his blankets to silence his gasps.

"Do you require assistance Captain?" Jarvis' voice – unfailingly proper despite the hour and the circumstances – rang out from the ceiling.

"No." Steve gulped down a few more deep breaths, "I'm fine, thanks Jarvis."

Steve didn't want Jarvis to be worrying about _him_. Jarvis had had constant decryption programs running since the second AIM's first message arrived on Steve's phone, but he was "unoptimistic" about their success. It terrified Steve that Tony was in the clutches of people who could outsmart Jarvis. It had been two weeks already, and Steve didn't want to take any of Jarvis' processing power if it could be put towards finding Tony.

Jarvis was no longer running the lower floors of the tower, those had been put in control of some StarkIndustries suit. Steve avoided the man like the plague. He knew Tony would have hated him and his neurotic insistence on complete order in the tower. Also, he was just another reminder that Tony was missing, and Steve didn't need any extra reminders.

Jarvis remained active solely on the Avengers' floors, all of which were occupied except for Tony's penthouse. Steve's heart ached as he remembered Jarvis' explanation that the comfort and safety of the Avengers was a primary protocol, and he would cease operating before ceasing to ensure the safety of "sir's new family." He thought Clint got a little teary about that one as well, but the archer had promptly declared that there was work to be done and excused himself to get an important file.

The communal floor, usually used for movie nights and team bonding activities, had been transformed into a makeshift headquarters for all information relating to Tony's disappearance. Much to Steve's dismay, the Helicarrier had been requisitioned by some foreign SHIELD bigwig to deal with an invasion in Asia. Steve knew he was biased, but he still felt SHIELD could be trying harder to find Tony. No attempts at negotiation had been made, and although Steve understood Fury's arguments against appeasement and slippery slopes, he was willing to do anything to get Tony back, politics be darned.

There had been relatively few threats to the city in the past two weeks; it was like the resident supervillains wanted the Avengers to find Tony. The team had been able to concentrate all their energy on tracking down AIM facilities, but they had made next to no progress. One hideout had been located, but it had contained nothing useful with regards to finding Tony. SHIELD had only been able to arrest a few dozen AIM goons. With every day that went by, Steve was becoming more and more worried. The most comprehensive intelligence network, the most intelligent AI in history, and dozens of superheroes had all made finding Tony a top priority, but still had nothing to show for it. And with every day that passed, Tony was becoming _a little bit more broken_. Heller's mocking words rang in Steve's ears, despite the two weeks that had passed since they had been uttered.

 _How long will he last before there's nothing left to save?_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Clint**

Clint was freaking out.

Quietly, of course. Clint was a professional, – even if he didn't act like it most of the time – this _certainly_ wasn't his first rodeo, he had been on both sides of the camera plenty of times, and he knew better than to have a full-blown panic attack.

That didn't make it any easier to stomach the videos.

Clint was a bastard, really, he knew it, and that was why he had never really thanked Tony for everything he had done for the team. Clint's only permanent home before the tower had been the SHIELD barracks, which was fucking depressing when he thought about it. It also was pretty standard for high-level SHIELD agents. Something about fucked up childhoods evidently produced talented spies. Not that surprising, really.

It was more surprising that he and Nat had actually found a place to call their own, albeit living off the generosity of one of the world's richest men. _Maybe_ his eyes had watered a little when Jarvis called them "sir's family," but he had allergies, alright?

Maybe he missed Tony a little. Maybe he had shed a couple of tears. _Maybe_.

It wasn't like he was nearly as bad as Cap.

Cap wasn't holding up too well. After that first breakdown in the bathroom – which he had done a _breathtakingly_ pathetic job of hiding, by the way – Steve had collapsed at least three other times that Clint was aware of. And it was painfully obvious that he was barely sleeping, from the dark circles that seemed permanently inked under his eyes.

Clint was worried about Tony, – very worried, in fact – but he was also worried that the team wouldn't survive Tony's death. Tony had left them the tower in his will, but the team needed more than a place to live. Tony's death would break Cap – one last loss that he couldn't recover from – and Thor and Hulk would never listen to another leader. Clint and Natasha could go back to being regular SHIELD agents, but it just would never be the same again.

Clint sighed and opened his eyes. He was lying on the couch in the communal den (aka kidnapping investigation HQ), having just returned from watching another of the videos.

Nearly every day for the past two weeks, he and Natasha had been called in to watch yet another video from those assholes. Clint wasn't sure why they were still calling them in – it had been something about familiarity with Tony – because Tony was barely coherent even at the beginning of most of the videos. After watching his foot being hammered into a pulp, Clint had given up any hope of Tony escaping on his own. His friend was scared and crippled, and if he had any idea where he was, he wasn't telling.

Next to Clint, Steve was hunched over a tablet, ostensibly looking over information Jarvis had collected, but Clint could tell that at least part of Cap's attention was focused on wondering what horrors Tony had experienced today. This video had been particularly bad; Tony had been chained to a whipping post and whipped until he passed out. The red mist that had shrouded the room as Heller finished was the stuff of nightmares, and Clint privately resolved to ban horror movies from movie night when (if) Tony got back.

Tony was a survivor. The fucker would live just to spite his captors, and they had the best intelligences in the world looking for him. It was only a matter of time until they found him.

Right?

* * *

 **A/N**

 **I really enjoy writing Clint's perspective! It's also a nice interlude, since Tony and Steve are total messes atm. Please r &r and tell me what you think!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Tony**

Tony came to sprawled on the floor, for once mercifully unrestrained. His bare chest was pressed against the cold concrete floor, putting uncomfortable pressure on his bruised ribs and the arc reactor, but at least they hadn't put him on his shredded back.

After the last session – another beating – Tony had woken a few times in his cell. He had vague recollections of someone cleaning him off and dealing with what little waste he could still produce, but was soon distracted from his memories by the plastic tube next to his mouth. He reached out with his neck and sucked in as much sweet, clean water as he could manage. Tony knew that hydration would only mean that he would heal faster, thus hastening the next session, but they wouldn't let him die of dehydration anyways. That would be much too painless.

After sucking down as much water as possible, Tony attempted to shift himself off his stomach so he could at least relieve the pressure on his ribs. His back muscles tensed, and he let out a hoarse scream as the lacerations on his back tore. _So much for that plan_ , Tony thought, as he collapsed back onto the floor.

The only upside to his complete inability to move was that it made torture sessions impossible. AIM didn't want him dead yet, and it was quite possible that a session while in this condition would kill him. _What a relief_.

Tony wasn't entirely sure he was grateful for the respite, because, well, being alive wasn't so fun right now. The team was probably coming, but Tony was getting a little worried. _What was taking them so long?_ He was sure they had seen at least some of the videos, weren't they worried? Even if they weren't as close as he thought they were, surely they didn't want him to be tortured? Didn't they want their tech support back?

Lost in thought, Tony tried to move again, and everything went white for a few seconds.

When Tony could open his eyes again, he found himself staring at a pair of steel-toed boots. The door was pretty loud when it opened, so that meant that either he had been completely out of it or this guy had been in the cell the whole time. Shit. He _really_ needed to work on his situational awareness.

Tony lifted his head to look the man in the eyes, ignoring the stabbing agony in his back the movement caused. Great. Generic henchman #3. Where did they find these people anyways? Did they put adds in the classified section of the newspaper "Evil Henchman Wanted: must be tall, muscular, small eyes, stupid looking, have visible scars"

Tony imagined any of these goons reading. Heh.

Wow, he was _really_ out of it. It was probably the blood loss. Or the agonizing pain.

Tony was jolted back to the present by a hand running its fingers down his back. He clenched his jaw shut and resolutely _did not yell_. He didn't manage to stop his sharp intake of breath as the fingers rested lightly on the waistband of his bloodstained jeans. He forced himself to breathe normally, despite the fact that his brain had kicked into hyper drive.

If the guard decided to…try something here, there would be very little Tony could do to stop it. He was weak and in pain, and if he tried to cry out he would probably just attract more…helpers. The guard could get away with quite a lot of _that_ without permanently harming Tony, so no one would stop him and –

Tony squeaked as the hand slipped into his pants, grabbing his ass. The guard chuckled and slapped him hard on his left cheek. Tony flinched, and stilled as excruciating spears of pain tormented his back.

The hand slipped lower and cupped a very private place. Tony held back a sob. He _did not_ want this. AT ALL.

Apparently, his body wasn't so keen on getting with the program. As much as Tony hated this, his body was responding acutely to the first gentle touch he had had in weeks. The guard looked _thrilled._

"Knew you were a slut, Stark, but I didn't realize you'd be this horny. You're practically drooling for it already."

Tony groaned and turned his head away from the bastard – who proceed to pinch him where it really hurt. Tony yelped and turned back to glare at the man. "Fuck you." His first words in weeks were hoarse and gravelly, but still forceful.

The man just laughed at him. "I think you're a little confused about who will be fucking who, bitch."

Tony absolutely refused to give the fucker – literally – the satisfaction of a reaction.

"We're all wondering if the famous Tony Stark is as good as everyone says he is," the goon continued, smirking as he continued to rub Tony to full hardness, "we're all gonna have a lot of fun with you as soon as the boss gives the go-ahead." The hand pumped up and down, and Tony closed his eyes, imagining mud and ice and anything that would get rid of the sensation. "I'll just leave you a little something to remember me by."

The guard withdrew his hand once Tony had reached full hardness. His fingers lingered on Tony's bloody back for a few seconds before he stood up. The locks loudly clicked open and closed as he left the room.

Tony shifted, trying to lift his weight off his erection, but only succeeded in triggering the injuries on his back. He collapsed, this time not able to hold back the sob. He felt disgusting.

The next time he was taken to the torture chamber, there were a lot more guards. There was laughing and touching and taunting and _begging_ and _taking_.

And pain.

Tony didn't know how long it had been when he next awoke. He had never imagined that anything could make the pain of the whipping worse. The guards had taken great pleasure in proving him wrong.

They had ripped his pants off; they were probably lying in shreds on the ground of the torture chamber now. He could still feel their hands on him, touching, taking, forcing.

He could feel the various bodily fluids dripping between his legs, coating his torso, back, and face. He found his eyelids had crusted over, but couldn't work up the strength to move his arms to clear them, or even to care, really. It didn't matter, anymore.

Tony awoke in a cold sweat. He had been dreaming of Steve, and how disappointed he would be when he saw today's video. Tony had been trying so _hard_ , but he wasn't strong enough. He had finally broken his silence and _begged_ them to stop _touching_ him. Steve had been so angry, nothing like how they used to bicker. He had informed Tony just how worthless he was, had always been.

Tony would give anything to make that dream a reality, to see Steve again.

At least now Tony knew what was taking his team so long. He was a bastard, he was _filthy_ , why would they want him back? He didn't deserve to be on a team with people as talented as them. Anyone could shoot people from inside a suit; he wasn't a _hero_.

How could he ever have thought someone like Steve would have wanted someone like Tony? Steve was gorgeous and altruistic and the pinnacle of human perfection, and Tony was just a slut and a self-centered asshole and a mass murderer. Steve deserved a gorgeous wife and a white picket house and two-and-a-half kids, not a fuck-up with empty mansions who didn't give a shit about anyone but himself.

They weren't coming for him. They were all talented enough in their own right, they didn't need weak little Tony Stark pulling them down. Sure, he hade nice toys, but they would be fine without his gadgets. They didn't need him.

Maybe if he got out of here and made it back to the tower and proved how useful he could be they would let him stay. Maybe they would still pretend that they wanted him around. He would be good and he wouldn't bother anyone if he could just continue pretending that they were a family.

Fresh tears slipped down his cheeks as Tony curled into fetal position as best he could. Everything hurt, but at least he could lose himself in the physical pain and forget how much the abandonment hurt.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: Clint**

"Three weeks. Three goddamn weeks, Fury! We have no leads, no new information, nothing! You keep saying you have the best people fucking world working on this, we're getting fucking _daily torture videos_ from AIM, where the fuck is he?" Clint burst into the conference room, poised for attack. Cap's hand grasped his shoulder, forcing him to a halt.

At least they knew for sure that Tony was still alive, Clint thought, but he wasn't entirely sure if that was a positive anymore.

Actually, that was a lie. Clint knew it _wasn't_ a positive. He wanted to bring Tony home more than anything, but he also knew that that desire was entirely selfish. Watching the past few videos –

No one deserved that. Especially not Tony. Clint had no doubt that letting Tony die would be the kindest option. It was certainly what Tony wanted – his desperate pleas with his captors had made that clear, at least. He had been surprisingly articulate for someone getting –

Clint took a deep breath and blinked twice, glaring at Fury. They had all been called in by Fury to debrief, and Clint wanted nothing more than put an arrow through his remaining eye. Clint focused on Cap's hand on his shoulder, trying to calm down and concentrate.

It was Cap now, not Steve. Steve was buried somewhere deep in his own mind, caught up in the horrors he imagined Tony was facing. Captain America had taken charge, and now even that façade was slipping.

Cap was starting to really worry the rest of the team. Jarvis had already informed them that he wasn't eating nearly enough, and had barely slept since Tony had been taken. Cap couldn't take much more of this, and that didn't even include everything they would have to deal with if – _when_ – they got Tony back.

This meeting had better be _really_ fucking important, or Clint would be completely justified in taking a page from Phil's book and starting to kill SHIELD agents with the stapler on the desk.

On that friendly note, Phil walked in, putting his hand on Clint's other shoulder. Surrounded, Clint took another deep breath, and sat, trying to convey his intense level of displeasure by glaring at anything and everything in the room. Fury looked completely unfazed, the asshole.

"Calm your ass down, Agent Barton." Fury snapped. Clint swore could feel Phil's raised eyebrow behind his back. Fury sighed before continuing. "That's why I called you here, Agent. I will explain when the rest of you team arrives. Sit down, Captain Rogers." Cap stiffly lowered himself into the chair next to Clint. Clint idly wondered if posture like that hurt.

Natasha was next to arrive, probably having returned from a long session with the sparring machines in the gym. She looked composed as usual, but Clint knew her well enough to see the tension of her muscles. She was good at hiding things, but even she couldn't hide how worried she was about Tony.

It was another few minutes before Bruce and Thor appeared. Clint mumbled something about tardiness under his breath – more out of force of habit than anything else. It was likely that Thor had been dealing with a potential hulk-out on their way here.

The five Avengers sat stiffly around the conference table. The tension in the air could have been sliced with a knife, and Clint wondered why Fury didn't just _hurry the fuck up_ so that they could get back to finding Tony.

Fury surveyed the assembled team members before speaking. "A team just returned from a long-term mission with AIM." Clint sucked in a breath, hoping this was going where he thought it was going. "They think they know where Stark is being held." He held up a hand before the inevitable protestations. "We have already assembled a retrieval team that will leave in a few minutes."

"If you think we're going to stay here and wait you have lost your fucking mind." Clint declared in a low, harsh voice, as his mind tried to assimilate the new information.

"Agent, you are aware of what Stark has experienced over the past month. Don't expect my to believe that you will be able to maintain your objectivity for a rescue mission."

"Of course we won't maintain our fucking objectivity, we'll go in and burn that shithole to the ground!" Clint was on the edge of his seat, rearing for a fight.

"Surely you do not expect us to leave our shield-brother in peril?" Thor boomed, looking regally down at Fury.

"Sir, you can't expect us to stay here and wait for SHIELD agents to rescue Tony. We won't allow our emotions to compromise the mission or Tony's safety." Steve's voice was steady, and he looked more alert than he had since they had first arrived at SHIELD when Tony had been kidnapped.

Fury gave them all a long look. "I figured you'd say that. The mission brief has been uploaded onto your phones; you will read it on the way there. I called you here because you need to be updated on Stark's condition. He has been subjected to nearly a month of torture –" Bruce flinched, but waved at Fury to continue. "His physical and mental condition is not good. You will get him to the medics as quickly as possible without putting him in more danger. You can't allow yourselves time to get emotional over his injuries. Is that understood?" The question was addressed at the whole team, but Fury was looking at Steve.

"Yes sir." Steve met Fury's eyes, voice even, as if this was any other mission. His white knuckles on the armrests of his chair belied the truth.

It was lucky the mission was so simple, because Clint hadn't put much effort into concentrating on the mission briefing. Everyone, even Natasha, had been jittering on the edge of their seats for the Quinjet ride, objectivity be damned. They all knew there was nothing routine about having to go in and extract a teammate from hell.

Clint had taken great pleasure in putting an exploding arrow in Roy Heller's chest, and watching it detonate. Splattering his bodyguards with blood and guts had been a bonus. He had also made a mental note never to mention that to his shrink.

Of course, Clint was only reliving this fond memory now because he was currently in the cellblock. The first door he had opened had been the torture chamber he was now familiar with from the videos, and it had taken tremendous effort (and lots of practice) not to throw up all over the floor at the mere memory of what had happened there.

Clint's small explosive blasted open yet another cell door. The floor had a dark patch, but the room was also empty.

"Fuck." The curse echoed in the empty hallway. Clint wondered what they would do if Tony wasn't here. He slapped an explosive on the next door, and plugged his ears.

The blast made the floor vibrate, and Clint heard a small moan as he turned around.

"Tony!" Clint would barely have recognized his friend if he hadn't seen the videos. The body inside the cell was mangled nearly beyond recognition. Tony was covered in slices and bruises, and completely naked. Clint thanked anyone listening that he was facing forward. He wasn't sure what he would have done if he had seen his friend's backside.

It looked like Tony had been cleaned recently – because those wounds should have bled a lot – but that only emphasized the multitude of injuries on his body. Clint knelt, pulling out a blanket from his pack. He had been assigned the task of actually retrieving Tony – despite Cap's objections – because he was "experienced enough to maintain composure," and Nat was a better hand-to-hand fighter.

Clint lifted Tony's body into his arms with little effort. Tony weighed nearly nothing, and Clint held him to his chest protectively before kicking the door fully open and striding out of the cell. He tried not to touch Tony's injuries, but there were too many to avoid.

Tony moaned against Clint's side, but didn't stir. He was probably deeply unconscious, and reacting to the pain from the jostling.

Clint could hear the sounds of the fight as he left the cellblock. He turned in the opposite direction, nearly running towards the waiting medical station. The medics had a bed prepped, and Clint tried to set Tony down as gently as possible, but Tony groaned as he was laid down on the gurney. A medic immediately pulled Clint back so they could surround Tony's still body.

Behind them, the sounds of the battle tapered off. This SHIELD base had been woefully unprepared for attack – obviously counting on the secrecy to shield them. Clint heard Cap approaching.

"Clint! Did…did you get him?" Cap panted, probably having sprinted here the second he was done fighting.

"Yeah. The medics are doing emergency care now. He's unconscious, which is probably better." Clint immediately regretted his words. Cap did _not_ need to know details about Tony's injuries right now.

"Ok. That…that's good." Clint could feel Steve's flinch as he caught sight of the body on the gurney. "I…I have to go." Steve sprinted off in the direction of their Quinjet. Clint cast a last reluctant glance at Tony before following him. The medics needed to concentrate on their work, they didn't need panicking friends distracting them.

The rest of the team had headed directly towards the Quinjet, and were buckling themselves in when Clint arrived. He could hear the retching coming from the bathroom.

"Leave him." Natasha commanded, "He needs to get it out of his system."

Clint nodded mechanically and fastened himself into the pilot's seat. Steve would be fine. He just needed to see Tony alive and well.

Tony would be fine. Right?


End file.
